January 7, 2019

Elizabeth, her body aching with exhaustion, is sprawled on the couch in her office. She should be on her way home; she should've left hours ago—too many hours ago. But she needed this time, this precious solitude. It's not fair to Henry, she knows. They share a life and a bed, but it's hard to let him in. She's always been the one to handle this, to bear the weight of her past. She needs this time to process, to come to terms with the fact that she's come face-to-face with that man, her monster, after all this time. At this moment, her vulnerability is palpable, and it's hard not to feel for her.

Elizabeth's life is about to change. A new fear is gripping her—Tom Kincaid. She knows his name. She's spoken with him. She's faced her monster. Yet, now she has a whole new set of fears. She has ambitions now, ambitions that could change the world. They are big and scary, and the thought of him ruining her chances of becoming the President of the United States drives an even bigger spear of fear through her.

She's twirling her insurance policy in her hand. The shiny silver flash drive catches the light, and for a moment, she feels a glimmer of hope. There's so much potential in that tiny thing but so much risk, too. She could tell the world what happened. She could use the recorded conversation saved on the 125-gigabyte drive to make sure Tom Kincaid never goes a single day without it being known he's a predator again. Or, she could keep it locked away. She could hold this over his head and keep him quiet. The potential consequences of her decision are immense, and the risks she's taking could change her life and the lives of those around her.

She's staring at the flash drive, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. She wonders what Mike would say, or Russell... Henry, too. Any decision she makes, she knows, would be too complicated, too fraught, too... dangerous to act upon rashly. She can't afford to make this decision without thinking it all through on a day that's been much too traumatic. Her future depends on it—the future of the nation. The emotional turmoil she's experiencing is overwhelming, and it's hard not to feel her pain.

She sighs, finally standing. She slowly packs her purse and briefcase, checking the clock. It's well after midnight. Henry is probably wondering where she is and why she hasn't called. He knows better than to interrupt her here unless it's an emergency, though she's sure the night hasn't been easy for him.

She stops by Blake's office, knowing that even now, the junior policy advisor doesn't leave if she's still in the building.

"Blake, I need your help." Her voice quivers with a mix of fear and desperation as she stands outside his new office. He may not be her assistant anymore, but she still needs him. She's not just asking for a favor. She's asking for a lifeline.

"Sure, ma'am." He looks the way he always does, ready to take any assignment in stride. She lays the USB drive on his desk.

"I need you to keep this safe for me." She places the USB drive on his desk, her hand trembling. "I may need to use it someday. But if I ever ask for it, tell me to talk about it with Henry first." The weight of her decision is crushing, and she's unsure if it's the right one. But she's desperate for a safety net, and this is the best she can come up with. The tension in the room is palpable as she grapples with the enormity of her choice.

"What is it?" he asks. He usually wouldn't. His job is to follow her orders, but there is something in her voice that concerns him. She sounds unsure, and there's been a nervous energy about her all day. She snapped at Jay, and he swears he caught her taking her anxiety medication around three this afternoon.

"Do you remember when you told me that I could trust you with my life?" She looks him directly in the eyes, her hand still hovering above the USB drive.

"Yes, ma'am," He nods. He had meant those words. Elizabeth McCord had saved his life once. He was so depressed after leaving finance and Trevor that he decided to get a master's degree. He took her class after getting as far away from New York as his parent would allow. He sat in the back of the international politics undergrad class he audited on a whim, and slowly, Professor McCord breathed life back into him through her passion and enthusiasm for the subject. He'd spent the next few months trying to get his courage up enough to approach her after class and thank her. When he did, she had asked him to meet with her. He was convinced to change his focus to geopolitics. And when she was appointed she saw it fit to bring him to the State Department with her.

"I promise you that it contains nothing illegal or immoral. It's a recording of a conversation I had this morning," she takes a breath, "Something happened to me a long time ago. I don't want to get into it. But that recording contains the confession of the man who did it. It was not coerced or violently obtained. And he has knowledge that it exists. The incident that led to this, the one that changed her life, is something she's not ready to share yet. It's a wound that still bleeds, a scar that still hurts.

"Why do you need me to keep it?" He says his eyes were wide and confused.

"I trust you. Frankly, I cannot be trusted with having it in my possession right now. I don't want to make any trauma-based rash decisions. So I'm giving it to you. And if I ever ask for it, I want you to confirm with Henry that I have discussed it with him. I feel better knowing there are two layers of protection consisting of two people I trust implicitly against me doing something I may regret." She swallows thickly, her voice trembling, "I do ask that you don't listen to it, please?"

"I promise I won't." Blake picks the drive up. "If you trust me, ma'am, I will take care of it." His unwavering loyalty to Elizabeth is evident in his voice, providing a sense of reassurance in this tense moment.

"Thank you." She sighs, relief washing over her. I'm going home for the night; you should, too."

"I will, ma'am."

"Good night, Blake." She turns, her hand clutching her purse and briefcase a little too tightly.

"Goodnight, ma'am."

…X…X…X…

He's watching the hours tick by from his desk chair. He got home at three, unpacked his groceries, greeted his children as they got home one at a time, he cooked dinner. At six, he sat with his kids as they ate—he didn't. He was waiting for Elizabeth. Then it got to be seven and eight and nine. No call, no text. So he called Diplomatic Security, who assured him The Secretary is still at Foggy Bottom Dr. McCord. So he waited and waited and waited.

She walks into the house at twenty-seven minutes past midnight. She almost seems thrown off to see him waiting for her in their shared office. He watches her body language closely. He's spent three decades with her, and he can see her defenses already coming up.

"You waited up?" Her voice is edgy and guarded.

"I've been known to wait up for you," He tries to cut the quickly building tension. He knows he's angry. He knows she's triggered and upset. But he promised Father O'Connor and himself that he would talk to her.

"You know that's not what I meant," Elizabeth says, not looking at him.

"I know," He whispers, "Elizabeth, we need to talk."

"No, we don't. I'm so fucking tired of talking about it, okay? I can't."

"We can't not talk about it." He says gently, trying to temper himself.

"Henry," Her voice cracks and her eyes plead with him, "I can't. I sat in a room with... w-with... Jesus," She breathes, tearing her blazer off her shoulders, a telltale sign of her buzzing anxiety.

"You're shaking," Henry says, rising to his feet.

"Don't." She stops him, "I'm fine."

"You aren't fine." He says—his tone knowing and soft.

"I don't want you to touch me right now," Elizabeth shakes her head, "I need you just to stop... I need..."

Henry takes a deep breath, hoping to trigger his wife to do the same. He watches her hands begin to shake, her eyes glazing over. She is spiraling, and she's not listening to him.

"I'm sorry," She mutters, and Henry can't quite understand why she's apologizing. He reaches to steady her, and she grips onto him. She clings to him as her body starts to convulse. Her breathing is rapid, shallow, and desperate.

"Elizabeth, where are your meds?" He asks softly. He knows it's always a long shot—she rarely takes the rescue meds. She tries other methods to control the panic, and he tries not to push too hard. However, today, a little push might be what she needs.

"Don't want 'em," she gasps, "I can't..."

"Hey, needing a tiny little lorazepam doesn't make you weak. You can't breathe, Elizabeth," He keeps his voice measured and gentle.

"I... I..." she chokes.

"Okay, okay," he tries to calm her. Just sit down. Breathe with me, Liz. In," he takes a slow, steady breath. Out."

He keeps her breathing in time with him as he sits her down in the chair in the corner and kneels in front of her. He checks his watch and decides to give her ten minutes to try and calm down before he forces her to take a pill.

"You can't touch me right now, Henry. I'm sorry." She says, shimming herself away from him. His hands hover for a few moments. He's not used to his touch being rejected by her. Even when she's mad, they still touch. It's a grounding, reassuring, constant. He understands she's scared. She's afraid of him being close. She doesn't want him to touch her.

"It's all right," he whispers, "You're safe, babe. Keep breathing."

He can feel the panic and the stress coming off her in waves. It makes his chest tighten. His heart aches for her. He wants to hunt Tom Kincaid down and kill him with his bare hands. He wants to destroy the man for hurting his wife. He wants her to be safe. He wants her to not be in pain.

He wants her to trust him.

The realization stabs him straight through the heart. For the last thirty years, he's believed that they have cultivated and grown the deepest level of trust, and it was shattered in a matter of seconds. Elizabeth had been keeping her biggest secret, her worst pain, locked away and hidden from him. He had thought they were honest, open, and trusting.

"You're mad at me, oh, God," She nearly sobs, and he realizes he isn't controlling his facial expressions.

"No, Elizabeth. I'm not," He whispers as her breathing picks back up.

"I lied, Henry. I kept it from you. You're angry," Elizabeth rambles, the panic rising.

"I'm not. Not with you," He promises, and he doesn't think his words are being heard, "Elizabeth, baby, look at me. Take a deep breath, hold it."

He's watching her chest rise and fall in sharp, shallow breaths. But she catches a good one from her belly.

"Good, good," He coaches, "Now, exhale. Slowly."

He talks her through breath after breath, watching the minutes tick by. Finally, her breathing starts to slow and deepen, and her eyes flutter open.

"How're you feeling?" He asks softly.

"I don't know," she whispers with a shake of her head.

"You've had a very long couple of days," he says with a small sad smile.

She swallows and nods, "I don't want it to infect us, in any case. Please don't let this change us. I need us to be the same. I know you're mad; I do. I even understand. But I can't talk about this anymore today, okay? I can't. My head is spinning, and I just... I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Henry."

"It's all right," Henry says, "I love you, babe. Let's get you some food, okay?"

"I can't eat," She whispers.

"Not even ice cream?" he asks with a smile.

"That shouldn't work like I'm a little kid," she says with a very weak smile, "But is it Rocky Road?"

"What kind of husband would I be if it weren't?" he says, offering her a hand up.

She stares at it for a few moments before placing her palm in his. He gently squeezes her hand and gives her a reassuring smile.

"I love you, Henry. I'm sorry I'm such a mess. I'll get it back under control... I—"

"Hey, baby, no apologies," He cuts her off, "You've had a rough week."

"Yeah, well, I don't feel like I have any control over my life right now," Elizabeth says, "And it scares me."

"Elizabeth, he's not going to be able to derail your candidacy. He has no power. You don't have to be scared of him," Henry says as if he's read her mind.

"How do you do that?"

"What?" He asks.

"Read me like a book and then know exactly what to say," she smiles at him.

"You're my favorite book, babe," he says with a grin. She leans into him, finally accepting his hug, and he holds her close.

"I can't lose you. I can't lose us," she whispers, "We're okay, right?"

"Yeah, I'm not going anywhere, are you?"

"Nope," she shakes her head with a small grin.

"Then we're okay. We'll get through it. We always do, don't we?" He says, pulling away from her.

"Yeah," she nods, "We're pretty good at that."

"Come on," He smiles, "Let's go have some ice cream for dinner."